


Words Left Unsaid

by Cleo2010



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo2010/pseuds/Cleo2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock had a fight. This the morning after and the words beneath what they say aloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Words Left Unsaid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163558) by [RossKL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RossKL/pseuds/RossKL)



Sherlock was already up. He probably hadn't gone to bed. John hadn't slept much and any sleep he did capture was fitful and dream filled. He found it more exhausting than actually staying awake. John couldn't lay in bed any longer, his bladder was about to burst and his stomach was trying to eat itself. He gave in. 

Five minutes later he made his way gingerly downstairs to find Sherlock at the kitchen table examining an ordinance survey map of somewhere in Worcestershire. He was still in his clothes from last night. 

"Morning, Sherlock." _Sorry._

"Mmph." _I'm... sorry._

"Case?" _We should talk about last night._

"Might be." _I don't want to talk about last night._

"Good." _Don't make me start the talk. I always have to start._ "Tea?"

"English breakfast, I bought some yesterday." _At the bloody Tesco's where I saw you with that woman. Of all the days, John._

"Ah yes." _The rare sighting of you with a shopping basket full of things we actually need and a few extras. You bought my favourite posh biscuits and those balsamic vinegar crisps you hate the smell of. I never thanked you. Didn't have a chance, by the time I got home you were already furious._ "Hungry? I could make scrambled eggs for two." _You bought fresh eggs. Chicken eggs too._

"With cheese." _I thought you'd broken up with her._

"Right-O." _I know you hate her but I like her, we just had a fight and we got over it, I forgave her. Why did you have to make it into an argument? I can see who I like._

"Don't use the saucepan with the brown handle, I might need that later." _You make me so angry sometimes. Why can't you just work it out, do I have to spell out everything?_

"I doubt that's for cooking actual food." _Oh, you threw out the biscuits. And the crisps. Nice of you to make sure they were properly destroyed first. I don't know why you're so spiteful sometimes._ "Toast too?" 

"Yes." _I was angry with you. I bought them for you. I had a plan and you ruined it._

"Sherlock..." _We really should talk. I don't understand why you were as angry as you were._

"I might have to leave for a few days." _Or as long as it takes for you to forget._

"The case?" _You're running away. I know I was an arse too and I said some hurtful things but you can't just leave._

"Hidden cache of Second World War weaponry and gold." _Not really my thing but it serves my purposes. I won't have to see you._

"Sounds fascinating, need an assistant? I've got the weekend free." _I could make it free for this. We should spend some time together. It's been nice the last week, like old times. I should have made more time for you when I first got together with Nicola, it'll be different this time. Give me a chance._

"No." _I need to get away from you. Go spend it with her. Toast is about to burn._

"Well maybe I could come along for fun. This kinda thing is right up my street and - ah, bugger, burnt the toast a little." _Let me. We were both idiots, you said your fair share of insults too, I've forgiven a lot. You said I was pathetic, you said I was looking for someone to hurt me so I'd have someone to blame for being alone. I never thought of myself as alone before that._

"I'll... think about it." _It's not enough anymore. You said I was unlovable. You called me cold and unfeeling when that's the bloody problem._

"Good, here, I put sugar in it." _Maybe we can just forget last night. I'm sorry I said you were cold, I know you're not._

"Thanks." _I love you._

"You're welcome." _I need you._

"You can come." _I'm an idiot._


	2. Chapter 2

They'd been doing so well. Not only had they found the weapons cache and a significant amount of gold. They'd found the Royal Casket that once belonged to Polish royalty, complete with many of the pieces of jewellery, artwork and ivory that it was intended to hold. It was an incredible find. Both of them returned to the hotel high on their accomplishment and considering a career in hunting Nazi gold. 

Then Nicola had called. 

They'd been in the hotel bar when his phone had vibrated in his pocket. John made an excuse to continue the call outside but Sherlock knew who it was and their unresolved argument might well have never had ended. By the time John returned to the bar Sherlock was gone. John thought it was for the best. He had a drink by himself to steel his nerve and ventured to their twin room. John wasn't going to get drawn into a repeat of the other night.

It only took one snide comment before they were right back where they started. Pleas not to argue were soon forgotten with each spiteful word, barbed insult and sarcastic remark. It ended when Sherlock locked himself in the bathroom and tried to use all the hot water in the shower. John was intending to have a shower himself but gave up and fumed under the covers until sleep didn't just creep up on him but knocked him on the skull with a rock. He was tired, not just from the day, but of this.

 

John wakes in pitch darkness, not even a street light or the moon to cast a glow, when the space behind him in the bed depresses. "Sherlock?" 

A hand reaches out, cautious, wary, and touches his shoulder. Warm, soft, well cared for, not what John expected. _I'm sorry. Again._

John turns over to face Sherlock but backs away until his back touches the cool wallpapered wall. Sherlock's hand retreats. _I'm not. Get out._

Sherlock moves a little closer, his mouth opens and John hears the inhale before he speaks but it disappears into nothing, lost to the silence of the room. _I'm trying to tell you but I can't._

John closes his eyes and sighs. _I'm giving you a chance to say something right now, I can't take this anymore._

Sherlock reaches out again, purposefully setting his hand on John's shoulder. John tenses but doesn't pull away. John. The hand drifts down over the muscle that broadens John's shoulder, slow, over his bicep, slow, very slow, achingly slow, to his elbow. John holds his breath and lets it happen. _John, I..._ Further down, fingers wrapping softly around his forearm, slow, over his wrist until it comes to rest on top of John's hand. He squeezes. _Work it out, I'm in your bed, I'm holding your hand. Sort of. Work it out._

John remembers to breathe, he's dizzy. _Please speak, Sherlock, please._

Sherlock eases forward, the bed creaks, and closes the gap a little more, still keeping only one point of contact between them. John still passively lets Sherlock grasp his hand, the stark intimacy of such a simple gesture having too many meanings to comprehend. Sherlock's thumb brushes back and forth across the top of John's wrist sending a flush over John's body he doesn't know how to deal with. _Stop me. I won't stop unless you stop me._

John licks his lips, his mouth parched and dry. _This can't be... you don't... me?_

Sherlock takes his hand away and John feels unanchored in the dark, he wants to reach out, reclaim what he had until he feels the brush those same fingers against his t-shirt covered chest. _I want more than I'm taking, I want more from you._

The fingers press more firmly, unsure but steady, slipping across John's collar bone and along the curve of his neck created by his pillow. John's eyes close briefly at the touch of skin on skin before opening again, he sees little but feels everything. He doesn't stop him, he doesn't move for fear Sherlock will retreat. _It's ok, Sherlock. I want more too._

Sherlock tentatively cups John's cheek, his long fingers reach into bed mussed hair. _I want to kiss you. I won't stop._

John's eyes close. _Ok. Yes. I won't stop you._

Sherlock inches his face forward until John can feel Sherlock's breath mixing with his own. The wine they shared, the cashew nuts on the bar, the laughter and triumph of the case. Sherlock keeps going until his top lip brushes against John's, not even a kiss, barely a touch. _Last chance._

John nods. 

Sherlock presses his lips against John's, at last, almost too nervous to move them until John reaches out and grasps Sherlock's bare waist. Sherlock tilts John's head upwards a little, the height difference only needing a little accommodation and kisses him like he's testing John, moving against him, seeing how John's bottom lip fits between his and how their mouths learn to work together as they find a gentle, intoxicating rhythm of desire and belonging. Slow, undemanding, intense, like the moment when you begin to fall and there's no righting yourself but you still have your feet touching solid ground. You know you're lost but you're the one who tipped forward in the first place. John kisses back but only takes what he is given, his brain is still twenty steps behind. He hadn't known it could be his to take. 

Sherlock breaks away but doesn't go far, resting his forehead against John's, his hand still laced through his hair. _Do you understand now? Choose me._

"Sherlock." John gently massages the strip of waist he had claimed with no intention of breaking their somewhat distant embrace. _I understand, I understand everything now. Why didn't you say sooner?_

Sherlock's thumb brushes John's cheek. _You know now. Me or her?_

They lay in the dark in silence. John makes a decision. He moves forward and pulls Sherlock towards him so their bodies meet and knees become entwined. He can feel Sherlock's smile in the dark. _You._


End file.
